


Nobody party like the Jedi

by Gabriel4Sam



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Drunk Sex, First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Intercrural Sex, Is it an orgy if it's every couple for itself in the same room, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22037632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabriel4Sam/pseuds/Gabriel4Sam
Summary: The war is done and half the Jedi Order is drunk.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Quinlan Vos
Comments: 8
Kudos: 272
Collections: SubObi Weeks





	Nobody party like the Jedi

The Republic is saved and Obi-Wan is drunk like he never has been, drunk enough to not care that he’s drunk.

And he’s not the only one: half the Knights and a lot of Masters in this party are as drunk as a Devanorian on their Life Day.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, they will be reasonable and work to help rebuild the Republic. Tonight, they just want to forget for a few hours the death and the Sith and all the horrors of those last years.

Tomorrow, they will be the pillars of strength people want them to be.

Tonight, they are tired and human and drunk.

Anakin disappeared in the direction of Padme’s apartments hours ago and Obi-Wan doesn’t have to pretend to be strong and in control, just for a moment, and he’s dancing and flirting and drinking again, and sometimes crying.

It’s cathartic, and a mess, and exactly what Bant would prescribe, if she wasn’t busy with her tongue in Siri’s mouth. Obi-Wan blinks at the vision. It’s been years since Siri and him decided they are better as friends, but it’s still a second of struggling for control.

“Jealousy is undignified for a Jedi,” a voice says right into his ear, and Obi-Wan turns to Quinlan, as the other Jedi throws a arm around the red head’ s shoulder.

“It’s not jealousy,” Obi-Wan protests. On the other side of the room, he can see Depa and Kit, and it’s becoming pretty graphic, Kit’s hand deep in Depa’s tunic. A good thing Mace is still in the Healing rooms: this is more skin than anyone wants to see about their Padawans.

“I just regret I don’t have anyone to celebrate with. Even just for one night. Sometimes, a Jedi wants to be…wanted, you know.” And he’s sure he could explain better, if he hadn’t so much to drink, but Quinlan doesn’t give him sage wisdom as a rebuttal, instead a brief flash of irritation in the Force and a horrible swear word, then Quinlan informs him:

“You’re a bit of an idiot,” and he hauls him up by his tunics and his mouth bits Obi-Wan’s lips in a hungry kiss.

Obi-Wan lets him. Quinlan tastes of that strong blue alcohol thing the troopers distil and his kiss is demanding, powerful. For half a second, Obi-Wan hesitates, then lets it go. The consequences are for tomorrow, and for now, Quinlan is there, strong and warm and everything Obi-Wan loves in a male lover. The lust in the Force is as intoxicating as the alcohol in his blood, he can feel Quinlan’s desire and Kit’s and Depa’s and all the other, and his own desire is feeding itself of the atmosphere, and contributing to the other reactions in a chain reaction of hormones. He angles his head better and let Quinlan pillages his mouth, moaning a sound of encouragement. He snakes an arm around Quinlan’s waist and with his other hand, he does something he had wanted for years and that he never would in other circumstances: he touches Quinlan’s perfectly proportioned butt. His friend laughs against his lips.

“Knew it. You were watching my ass, all this time.”

“It’s your more redeeming quality,” Obi-Wan affirms, then he presses his lips against the other’s mouth again. Quinlan immediately invades his mouth a second time, then bites his jaw, kisses every inches of his throat. Obi-Wan is starting to feel light-headed, and Quinlan doesn’t help, sneaking a hand into his tunic, struggling with his belt.

“Horizontal,” Obi-Wan pants, “We need to be horizontal.”

The feedback in the Force is getting more intense, other couples have rolled on various meditation mats, and nobody cares any more than this is in public. This is happening, getting comfortable seems a way better idea than searching for privacy. Quinlan shoves him onto one of the enormous footstool Master Yoda insisted needed to be put everywhere, and the older Jedi really was a genius, this is the perfect height for Quinlan to bent Obi-Wan, pants onto his knees, tunics pushed apart.

“Another time, I will fuck you until you can’t remember how to be proper anymore,” Quinlan whispers in his neck and Obi-Wan whines without decorum at the idea. One time won’t be enough, Quinlan is right, but right now, the preparation seems like a bother, more than a moment of foreplay. They are too drunk, too full of lust. Quinlan pushes on his neck again, and Obi-Wan lets his head go in the footstool. He can see Adi, moaning under Eeth’s mouth. She’s beautiful in her pleasure. Everywhere, noises of flesh, whispers of lust.

“Don’t move,” Quinlan orders, and Obi-Wan hears a click, then the odour of the oil used to care for the leather of their belts and boots.

“Totally improper for internal use,” Quinlan admits, “but for what I have in mind…On your side, pretty thing.” He rubs the oil onto Obi-Wan’s skin, onto his thighs, and he’s almost trembling, there is oil everywhere, it’s never coming out of the cloth of the footstool. A Knight he doesn’t know pass next to them, and his gaze is a fleeting caress. Obi-Wan wants to preen, to moan like an animal in heat, to let Quinlan rut into him, undignified and messy.

His friend’s cock seems so hot it’s almost a burn against his skin, and he whimpers, clenches his thighs with more strength. Their level of inebriation didn’t stop them from erection, but it’s messing with their rhythm and coordination. Obi-Wan doesn’t care. Against his neck, Quinlan whispers dirty words, calls him a beautiful slut, bites kisses which will definitely leave marks.

Obi-Wan has never felt more alive, more human, has never felt less like the uncaring statue Anakin still believes him to be.

His orgasm almost takes him by surprise, the second Quinlan takes him in hand, and Quinlan’s own orgasm add to the mess.

Across the room, dozens of orgasms resonate in the Force at the same time, and Obi-Wan is caught into the reverberation. He yells under the pressure of it, and feels himself staying hard.

“Fuck,” Quinlan moans, and he pushes against in the tight channel made by his lover’s legs. He’s still hard too and he starts moving again.

That footstool will definitely need to be burned.


End file.
